


Starman: XXX

by grapehyasynth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alien AU, Alien!Fitz, Cracky Smut, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Smut, Smutty smut smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 22:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8304505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: Fitz has thoroughly enjoyed Jemma's instruction on kissing. Now they're ready for something more. (Ready-ish.) 
The trials and tribulations of teaching a humanoid alien (Fitz) about sex. 
(Posting this separately from the original Starman fic so as to not taint its rating -- Ch 1 is G, Ch 2 is T. Highly recommend reading that first.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to chinese-bakery for beta and spontaneous encouragement!! 
> 
> Have some cracky smut folks. I don't even know what this is.

“So I have a bit of an uncomfortable question,” Jemma began hesitantly as Coulson closed the door to his office.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you uncomfortable about asking anything,” he noted with that half-smile he seemed to wear regardless of his mood.

“Less uncomfortable for me than for you,” she clarified. “Potentially. Given your commitment to zealously fulfilling the loosely-defined contract of adoptive uncle.”

“Yeah, that sounds more like it. What should I be feeling uncomfortable about?”

“Well…” Jemma found, as she was about to voice the words, that she was more nervous than she’d realized. With friends this would be an entirely different conversation, but… it was _Uncle Phil_. “In all your research on alien life forms, specifically humanoid aliens, did you come across anything about… human-alien sexual intercourse?”

She gushed out the last phrase as quickly as she could, for however clinical the words had seemed when she’d practiced them, she knew it sounded preposterous to anyone who didn’t know Fitz and how entirely un-alien he seemed, aside from a smattering of loveable quirks.

Coulson’s expression barely changed, though his eyebrows twitched and he leaned back away from his desk and into his chair.

“What was that last bit?”

“Human-alien sexual intercourse,” Jemma repeated, willing herself not to blush.

“I assume this is about Fitz and not some expedition to Mars you’ve got planned,” Coulson said slowly.

“Yes, it’s about Fitz,” she half-groaned. He was making this worse than when her own parents had tried to give her _the talk_. Honestly, she’d understood the biology of sex long before they said, ‘ _Now Jemma, when two people love each other very much…’_

“Okay, I’ll gloss over the terrible image that’s now seared forever in my brain and pretend you’re asking this for purely academic reasons,” Coulson sighed. “What do you want to know? Interspecies sex is always a bit of an unknown, though it’s less risky between two humanoid beings who seem to have some kind of similar genetic make-up. Of course, if reproduction isn’t in the plan—“

“Not at the moment, no,” Jemma clarified quickly. “More…logistics, STIs, things like that.”

“Logistically…” Coulson grimaced. “It varies. You’ll have to explore that on your own. And please do _not_ ever tell me what you find out. But if you can make it work and it’s not painful for either of you, then it’s probably okay. Sexually transmitted infections can be passed between Earth-based species, but Nielsson has run admittedly highly ethically questionable studies in sixteen solar systems and found no such transfers between humans and humanoid aliens. So you’re probably safe where that’s concerned, but I’m still going to take this opportunity to plug protection.”

“I’m assuming there aren’t any existing tests which he could undergo, just to be sure?”

“We could try some,” Coulson shrugged. “We don’t really know how his system works but it can’t hurt.”

“No probing,” Jemma said quickly. “I know we all have that stereotype about alien probes but Fitz is quite squeamish about that. And needles.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Coulson chuckled. “Though if he’s clean the whole probing thing might… You know what, I’m not gonna finish that sentence,” he added, suddenly looking slightly nauseous.

“Yes, best not,” Jemma agreed.

 

 

Several days later, Jemma received the call from Coulson that all the tests he’d run on Fitz’s blood and other bodily fluids showed up clean and harmless…albeit with what he called ‘interesting results’, which he insisted Fitz could share with Jemma if he wanted. Mack, who had taken Fitz under his wing and let him hang out at the garage whenever Jemma was at work, was driving him back to her house, which left her just a few minutes to get ready.

It had been a long time since she’d seduced someone, and while she’d always preferred to be straightforward, previous boyfriends had seemed a little caught off-guard when she’d initiated encounters. With Fitz, however, she felt she’d need to be a bit blunter to overcome any cultural confusion between them.

So she wasn’t taking any chances with setting the mood. Cliché it might be, but she knew exactly which movies he’d seen and had been his sole provider of cultural interpretations of love declarations and dramatic love-making.

Fortunately Mack dropped Fitz at the curb and drove off without stopping in, so Jemma didn’t have to hide anything. She waited anxiously at the end of the hallway as he came up the walk and turned the doorknob.

His first glance took in the trail of tea-lights along the hallway leading towards the living room – for snogging and fore-play, if preferred – and her bedroom, as well as the drawn curtains and the incense burning on the mantel. Then his eyes found her face, her careful make-up, her meticulous curls; trailed down to her bare shoulders; widened at the dark blue silk of her minuscule lingerie; and dropped straight down to where her hem brushed her pale thighs just below her crotch.

He gulped audibly.

“Hi, Fitz,” she whispered in what she hoped was a sultry tone.

“Hullo?” he squeaked out, gaze still riveted below her waist. At least _that_ part of this process wouldn’t be a total surprise to him – he wasn’t planning to insert his…whatever he had in the entirely wrong region.

“I hear you’re free and clear,” she murmured, leaning against the doorframe.

“Yes?”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I—“ For the first time he seemed to realize he was staring, and he looked quickly up to her face, blushing. Jemma wondered if aliens had lingerie. “I’m very glad.”

“It’s about time, isn’t it?”

He nodded sharply and took a step towards her. They’d kissed, even approached making out a few times, but there’d been a mutual understanding that some questions would need to be answered and some boundaries established (or dismantled) before they would progress beyond that. But now?

“What do you think we should do about it?” she prodded gently.

Fitz looked like he’d shown up to class in uni and found there was an exam for which he hadn’t studied. “Um…” His eyes traced her form again, appreciatively lingering. “You’re all dressed up – are we going out to dinner to celebrate?”

Obviously that was a _no_ to the alien lingerie then. “Fitz, do you understand why you did those tests?”

“Yes.” If he’d been blushing before, now his face was burning. But he licked his lips and took a step closer, fingers twitching in her direction.

“Then why aren’t we kissing?”

Bluntness proved itself the best strategy as he pressed himself to her from his lips on hers to his tennis shoes bumping her bare toes, one hand sliding over the silk on her back as the other steered her into the living room proper. Clever alien-boy could snog like a pro _and_ follow tea-light directions.

They tumbled onto the sofa, though this was still nothing new, besides Jemma’s state of near-undress. Fitz settled back against the cushions as Jemma straddled him, appreciating how this thin material let her feel the prominent bulge in his jeans. Her curiosity as to its nature was nearly as significant as her unabashed thirst for him in any form, and it was only his infuriating purity that kept her from sliding right down onto her knees and asking him to undo his zip.

“We can stop at any time,” Jemma panted, and though Fitz nodded, his eyes were riveted on her mouth and he swallowed her assurances in further kisses.

Jemma had been with virgins before, and of course had been one herself once. She knew, therefore, that even those who lacked sexual experience brought their own preconceived notions, culturally-formulated stereotypes and expectations, fears and preferences, concerns and interests, hopes and methods. A virgin who valued sweet, respectful interactions was, at least to Jemma’s tastes, far preferable to a veteran lover who cared more for his own completion that their shared pleasure.

Fitz was _nothing_ like Earth virgins. He was an entirely blank slate, from what Jemma could tell. His hands didn’t flutter nervously about her as he tried to decide where they should settle, but nor did they seek out all the reasonable spots most men went straight for. Even as her own hands restlessly roamed his rumpled shirt-front and she slicked her tongue against his upper lip, he cradled her _elbows,_ of all things. His mouth responded enthusiastically, and she even got him to moan by capturing the tip of his tongue gently between her teeth, but otherwise he was basically immobile.

Perhaps he was waiting for her to take the lead. She’d had to do so in nearly every previous session, so it only made sense that his hesitance would extend into greater physical intimacy.

Curling one hand around the back of his head so as to not sacrifice a moment of contact with his rapidly-improving kissing technique, she let the other slip down his chest to sweep very purposefully across the tent in his pants.

The bulge swelled immediately under her hands, Fitz yelped against her mouth, his knee jerked up and knocked her in the stomach, and the next second she was sprawled on the carpet, her right arm smarting where she’d collided with the coffee table.

“Jemma, I’m so sorry,” Fitz blurted out as he half-crawled, half-hobbled towards her, both hands clutched over his crotch, where she could just see a slight wet spot. “I didn’t—“

“Don’t!” she cried as he knelt beside her, and he pulled back in alarm. She slid backwards, face burning, feeling very naked and very cold as her eager arousal rapidly dissolved into guilt. What had she been _thinking_ , making such a move on Fitz? How could he possibly consent to any of this when he didn’t fully know what he was suggesting? He trusted her completely to gently introduce him to the ways of Earth and here she went groping him and what kind of terrible person –

And of course now all she could think about was _herself_ , when Fitz was hovering there with a slightly hurt, mostly worried crinkle between his eyes.

She swiped quickly at the tears currently making a mess of her mascara and pulled her legs towards her to hide the ridiculous lingerie. “Fitz, don’t apologize to me, please. I shouldn’t’ve – I had no right to – of course you would –“ She waved between them, unwilling to voice what had just happened. “Maybe you should go stay with Mack for a while—“

“Jemma, I don’t understand what I did wrong,” Fitz pleaded.

“What _you_ did wrong? Fitz, I just put my pathetic paws all over you without really checking that that’s what you wanted to do and _what_ you must think of me, what you must be feeling— Did I hurt you?”

“ _Hurt_ me?” Fitz finally uncovered his manhood and settled down fully on the floor beside her, starting to laugh. “Jemma, that was fantastic.”

“It was?” she whispered tearfully.

“Fantastic, brilliant, mind-blowing.” He waved his hands exaggeratedly. “Whatever other adjectives you Earth folks apply. I was just surprised. I’ve never felt… _that_ before,” he admitted quietly, glancing down at his own crotch.

Questions about self-completion could wait for later. “You aren’t upset?”

“On the contrary, I’d rather like you to do it again. Not right now,” Fitz added hastily, obviously recognizing the way Jemma’s breath quickened at the prospect. “Soon, preferably very soon, but… first, I think I’d like to learn a bit more about the whole thing. To avoid having further outsized reactions to pleasant surprises.”

“Of course, I should’ve thought of that,” Jemma sighed, her head dropping back in frustration. “Research and preparation are my fortes! I fear I’m seriously failing you as a guide—“

“We’re both new at this,” he assured her softly, scooting close enough to take her hands. “In different ways. But we’ll get there.”

She watched him kiss her knuckles and nearly flung herself on him again right then, so attractive did she find his every mood and mannerism, but she wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. “If you’re serious about doing research, I have an idea. This calls for something beyond a Google search.”

 

 

 

“Why me, though?” Hunter muttered to Jemma as they watched Fitz disappear into the next room.

“How many people do _you_ know who have their porn collections organized not only alphabetically but also based on fetish and number of participants?” Jemma replied drily.

“Fair enough. What all do you want me to do for him?”

“Don’t scare him. Start him out easy. But… show him what’s out there. Not _everything,_ obviously, or you’ll be here for months, but enough to get him started until he can try things out for himself. Give him options, give him an idea of what he might like or dislike… Maybe he’ll decide he doesn’t like any part of it, which would be alright too.”

“Would it?” Hunter snickered, nodding at the way she was twisting her hands anxiously.

“It’s an unlikely scenario, alright?” she hissed. “But it needs to be said, just in case.”

“Right, so, I’ll just show Alien Boy some of the freaky stuff and—“

“But don’t turn him into a crazed sexpot,” Jemma cut in hastily. “He’s got a sort of appealing je-ne-sais-quoi right now that I’d hate for you to spoil.”

“Not asking for a lot, are you, Simmons? You know males of _every_ species turn into crazed sexpots when given the chance. If it happens to him, it won’t be my doing.”

At that moment Fitz wandered back in, staring wide-eyed down at the cover of a magazine. “What are those?”

He was pointing to an outlandishly large pair of breasts covered in what appeared to be whipped cream and chocolate sauce.

Jemma snorted and turned to Hunter. “You were saying?”

Hunter sighed. “This may take longer than anticipated. I’ll drop him off at your place when we’re done.”

 

 

 

Jemma, for her part, knew she had a lot of self-reflection to do before Fitz returned from Sex 101.

She’d thus far been acting as if the sole responsibility for adjusting to a new culture fell to Fitz, and it had only been his violent reaction to her advances that jolted her from that selfish perspective. Whether he decided he was into radical BDSM or found sex as a whole entirely uninteresting, he brought aspects of his home planet and home culture with him, and she must be willing to not only tolerate but _embrace_ that, learn from him and create with him some culture somewhere in the middle.

It was rather a romantic idea, the two of them floating among the stars halfway between Earth and Planet Fitz, building their own world together. Even if it were utter nonsense, the visual was helping Jemma stay on track.

She couldn’t deny she wanted Fitz, _very_ badly. Everything he did was sexy, from his little grumble when she was up before him and he tugged the knitted blanket over his head until she wafted tea near enough to coax him out, to the way he’d dismantled and reassembled her bicycle in less than an hour.  But the important concept to which she held firmly was that she wanted him in _every_ sense, and of all the things she’d be most willing to sacrifice, sex ranked first. She’d rather keep his company and kisses and never go any farther than make him uncomfortable or risk their relationship, or whatever this was becoming.

By the time Fitz and Hunter rolled up in Hunter’s sports car, she’d removed all traces of the previous night’s attempt at seduction: the lingerie was tucked away under her socks, the tea lights were out in the rubbish, and the bruise from her ejection from Fitz’s embrace was covered by a long-sleeved t-shirt. She’d purposefully dressed casually, just to be clear.

And then when the door flew open, Fitz breezed in in an immaculate blue-grey three-piece suit and a cloud of cologne that reminded Jemma of good whisky and made her a bit weak in the knees.

“Jemma,” he breathed, his arms around her before she could even respond. He bent her backwards in a heady kiss; the position was ambitious for his slight frame, and they both nearly keeled over. Fitz caught them with a hand against the wall behind her and grinned down at her, his whole face glowing. “I’ll make some tea, shall I?”

She gaped after him as he disappeared into the kitchen. “What did you _do_?” she demanded of Hunter, who leaned cockily against the doorframe.

“Just took him shopping,” he said defensively.

“What were you trying to emulate, _Fifty Shades of Grey_?” Not that she wanted them to return the suit. Fitz looked like some intergalactic ambassador of seduction and she would gladly volunteer to be his first conquest, but _still_.

“We didn’t actually watch any porn, Miss Ungrateful.”

“No porn?! Hunter, I entrusted you to—“

“We didn’t watch porn,” Hunter persisted, “because the first thing he said after you left was to emphasize how important your happiness is to him.”

To that there could be no answer. Jemma glanced away, blinking quickly. “Oh.”

“So I walked him through the basics of female anatomy, contraception, consent, erogenous zones, things like that. I think you’ll find him well-equipped. Not like _that_ ,” Hunter scolded as Jemma’s eyebrows shot up. “Or maybe like that, I don’t know, we didn’t exactly whip them out to compare. But he’s ready when you are.”

“Hunter, that’s rather – that’s really – that’s truly lovely,” she finished, “thank you.”

“Believe it or not, love, I understand that some people engage in intercourse for different reasons than my own,” Hunter chuckled, his expression almost brotherly despite the nature of their conversation. “Just because I fill my hollow soul with raunchy sex doesn’t mean you need to, if you don’t want to.”

“You’ll find someone too, I’m sure of it,” Jemma said fervently, her pulse quickening again as she look over her shoulder to see Fitz at the stove, his suit jacket discarded and his shirt-sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

“She’d have to be a wild bird to keep up with me,” Hunter replied ruefully.

“Then again, maybe she’d have to be an alien.”

“Fitz isn’t really my type, but if he’s got a hot cousin or something, give her my number, yeah?”

After Hunter had left, Jemma remained in the front hall, watching Fitz with a smoldering tightness growing exponentially in her stomach. She’d never had a man in a suit make her tea before. And it wasn’t even the aesthetics of the suit and the way it snugged under his arse, though she enjoyed that as well. It was that it was _him,_ standing in _her_ kitchen, making _tea,_ with no intention of leaving.

“I know we’ve got a lot to talk about,” Fitz said absently as she came into the kitchen, swirling a long spoon through the tea, “but—“

She cut him off, drawing him down to her for a kiss that was neither half-hearted nor too insistent. It floated somewhere comfortably in the starry space between.

“What was that for?” he whispered against her cheek as she dropped her head against his neck.

“I’m just glad you’re here.”

They held each other so long that when Fitz remembered the tea, it had stopped steaming.

“I’m afraid it’s quite tepid,” Jemma informed him ruefully, withdrawing her finger from one of the mugs. “As sacrilegious as it is, we could just stick them in the microwave and then curl up on the couch—“

Unthinkingly, she licked her finger clean, curving her lips around it and drawing it slowly out with a small pop.

When she met Fitz’s eyes, they were riveted on her mouth. Cultural differences or not, everything she’d seen of his interest in make-outs thus far suggested a casual night of movies on the couch was _not_ on the schedule.

“Kiss me,” she pleaded breathlessly.

But rather than surging towards her automatically as he’d done the day before, Fitz adjusted his hands to interlace his fingers with hers and murmured, “Where?”

Jemma gasped, all sensation in her body seeming to narrow to the dip between her legs and the very tips of her breasts. Hunter _had_ done the job thoroughly. She’d have to send him a gift-basket or set him up on a hot date or something.

In answer to his question, she stepped back from him, drew her blouse over her head, and flung it aside.

She might not have ice cream toppings smeared on her chest, but Fitz looked hungrier than she’d ever seen him, and aliens had _excessively_ insatiable appetites.

“You’re – this is – these are—“ he stuttered.

“Breasts, Fitz,” she tittered, tempted to just grab his hands and plant them atop her bra.

“They’re _magnificent_ ,” he sighed. “Hunter said but I didn’t – I could never imagine—“

“Do you want to touch them, Fitz?” she teased. Why couldn’t his introduction to porn be with her? “To… kiss them?”

He nodded speechlessly, fervently, so she turned around, sweeping her hair around to the front of her shoulders to expose the clasp to him.

She gasped again at the heat of his fingers on her bare skin, slipping over her shoulder blades and the dip to her spine before settling on the fabric. She’d initially feared Fitz would prove to be some sort of cold-blooded alien, but beyond the warmth of his touch as he dispatched of the clasp, she could sense the _entire_ heat of him, most noticeably behind her lower back and in hot puffs against her neck.

It would be too easy to slip into the sensations, to relinquish control to the feelings of him, but she had a mission that involved _both_ of them achieving lift-off.

The bra fell open and she tossed it after the shirt, but he remained inexplicably behind her, brushing the pads of his fingers over her skin.

“What are these stars?” he whispered, spreading his entire palm across her shoulder.

She glanced back as best she could, and laughed. “They’re freckles. They’re essentially little pigmentation variations on my skin caused by concentrated melanin granules—“

“No they’re not,” he cut her off, and then his lips butterflied against her shoulder blade. “They’re stars in the galaxy that is Jemma Simmons.”

He kissed his way over her shoulder and down her collar bone, and then he was confronted at last with her bare breasts.

Before he could spout some simile about her nipples sporting rings like a planet’s asteroid belts, she pushed him away, smirking at his disappointed pout.

“Take your shirt off,” she ordered.

“I hardly think that’s necessary for what I had in mind—“

“I’m not the only one getting nude here,” she reminded him. “And believe me, I’ll make it worth your while. Strip for me, Alien Boy.”

The second he had his vest and shirt off, she pressed against him, gripping the back of his head as she nipped at his throat, dragging her chest very purposefully over his. He inhaled as their nipples brushed and the muscles of his core tensed, his erection thrusting suddenly against her. She only hoped the quickness with which he was ready would be offset by a long, rewarding buildup.

His thumbs brushed the lower curves of her breasts. She wondered distantly how much of his exploration came from confidence imparted by Hunter’s tutelage and how much came from the hazy arousal apparent in every line of his face.

“Tell me what to do,” he mumbled.

“What I really like,” she breathed, fondling his shoulders as she gently pushed him downwards, “is a little bit of suckling, some passes of the tongue, and some liberal application of teeth. But surprise me, and do what works for you.”

“You’re sure I won’t hurt you?” he asked anxiously, evenly as he moved his hands up to cup her breasts and swiped a thumb over one nipple.

Her head fell back, wishing she could discern each individual line of his fingerprints as they brushed against her.

“I’ll tell you if I you do,” she assured him. “But I don’t want you to be afraid.”

Holding her gaze, he lowered his mouth and took nearly half of her breast in at once, his teeth rimming her skin and her hardened nipples bumping against his tongue.

“I love your enthusiasm,” she grinned, scratching his scalp and discovering an erogenous zone of his as she groaned against her, “but the fleshy part really doesn’t care what you do. It’s all about this.”

She lightly touched the nipple on the breast he wasn’t currently swallowing, and he nodded, withdrawing reluctantly and shifting over.

This time, when his mouth descended on her, his lips circled just her nipple and the fingertip upon it. His tongue snuck out and, seemingly on instinct, flicked the tender peak.

“Yesss,” she hissed, grabbing a fistful of his hair. “Just like that. Now pinch the other one.”

She wished there had been a way to pleasure him while he lavished her breasts. She contemplated suggesting a hand job but it would be half-assed at best, suspended as she was by his attentions. Besides, she’d hate to distract him.

“Harder,” she whispered against the top of his head. “Please, Fitz, _harder_.”

“I don’t know what you—“ he began.

She grabbed the hand resting lightly on her hip, dragged it to the unoccupied breast, and squeezed, demonstrating the kneading motion.

“You have high expectations for my ability to multitask,” he muttered.

She didn’t get to retort, as he started doing something to her nipple that imitated the kissing technique she’d guided him through, complete with occasional lapping tongue. She moaned and stumbled into him; Fitz just chuckled tantalizing vibrations against her chest.

And then he was on his knees before her.

“What are you doing?” she choked out.

“I want to pleasure you orally,” he said, a bit awkwardly. His fingers fumbling at her belt dispelled any chance he misunderstood what he was saying.

“Firstly, that’s absolutely darling of you, Fitz, truly,” she laughed, staying his hands. “But it may be best saved for a later session. Besides,” she added quickly, catching the disappointment in his pout, “you’ve already done so many wonderful things to me, I’d like to do some to you.”

“What did you have in mind?” he asked warily.

 “Normally I would just do it right here, but as it’s your first time, I think we should lay you down.”

 

 

Not an insignificant bit of Jemma’s eagerness to give him a blow job originated in her excruciating curiosity about what he would reveal once he shimmied down his trousers and underpants. She was already used to the swirling skin patterns on his stomach – though that didn’t keep her from tracing their smooth surface as they made slow progress to the bedroom, kissing the whole way.

“Take these off.” Jemma tugged at his waistband, stepping back to give him space. She was remaining an air of confidence only knowing that it seemed to help Fitz at moments when he faltered; inside she was shaking with trepidation, anticipation, and need.

He complied rapidly, and to make it even – and to amplify what was about to happen for him – she shucked her own jeans, pretending not to notice Fitz’s jaw _actually_ dropping. And she’d not even put on any sort of fancy underwear.

“Those too,” she added, voice coming out slightly strangled as she gestured to his boxers. She could see his erection pulling the fabric of the boxers taut and his new cologne filled the small room and she’d imagined them here like this a thousand times since she’d first kissed his cheek and—

And there it was, his naked alien cock bobbling slightly as he straightened.

“Do you like it?” he asked nervously.

“ _What_?”

“Hunter told me you’d like this,” he clarified, gesturing to his length. She was jealous of his hand, of all things, for being so close to it.

“Oh, I think I’m going to get along with it quite well,” she purred. She let her gaze linger, knowing it would work him up in all kinds of delightful ways. And she wasn’t even putting on airs: she’d seen a fairly average number of penises in her until-Fitz futile quest for companionship, and this was something else. It was about the same shape but it had none of the, frankly, alien-like oddness that tended to provoke a slight recoil when she was usually confronted with a man’s cock. Fitz’s seemed like an _extension_ of him, ridiculous as that sounded, rather than this whole other being with a life of its own. (Even with a background in biology Jemma could never quite shake the feeling that there was something bizarrely autonomous about the male penis.) The skin transitioned smoothly from the enticing V of his abdomen up along his length, which rose smoothly and impressively far, unbroken except for a slight ridge about three-quarters of the way up. Which, if Jemma was estimating correctly, should place it _exactly_ at her G-spot when he was buried within her.

If there had been no alien-human copulation yet to date, female humans were being _seriously_ deprived of a superior orgasm experience.

But first…

“Okay,” Jemma said at last, voice gravelly, “what did Hunter share with you about blow jobs?”

Judging by the way his eyes bugged out again and his cock twitched, enough to work with.

“Do you want me to do that to you, Fitz?”

“D’you have to ask?” he panted.

“Better safe than—“

He scrambled backwards onto the bed.

“Alright then,” she grinned. “Scooch up a bit more, onto my pillows, and you’ll be able to watch.”

Even without the knowledge of what they were about to do, there would’ve been something deliciously elicit about Fitz’s bare arse on her covers.

She knelt carefully between his legs. There was nothing delicate about what they were about to do, but she still felt she might startle him like a baby deer.

His bare thighs were tense beneath her hands, she recognized once she’d gotten over the feeling of the dark blonde curls adorning them. She squeezed his quads gently, keeping her eyes focused on his face rather than looking where she really wanted to.

“I want to be explicitly clear about this, Fitz.” She wanted to be explicit about a lot of things, really. “If you change your mind at any point, I’ll stop immediately. Say something or make a motion or – whatever you need to do. I don’t want you to feel you need to agree to anything just because I’m eager to—“

“What do I have to do to convince you I want this, put it in your mouth myself?” Fitz demanded with surprising ferocity.

Jemma started at him, experiencing once again that plummeting of all sensation to one spot in her body. When she was finally able to find her voice, she breathed, “ _Yes_.”

He’d obviously been exaggerating, but now that he offered, she couldn’t imagine anything hotter.

Fitz’s mouth dropped open slightly as she wiggled backwards on the bed so she could lay properly between his legs, her hands on the jut of his hips, her face just above his crotch, ready.

She could actually _see_ the terror on his face fade into something else. Something that made his eyes dark and his chest rise more quickly and his tongue protrude from the corner of his mouth. Something that made the cock just below her practically _pulse_.

Propping himself up on one arm, Fitz leaned forward slightly, the muscles in his stomach clenching. He reached out slowly and settled his thumb just below her nose. Jemma considered biting it but he was in control for the first time since they’d started this and she wanted to see what he would do.

Fitz’s thumb dragged down over her lips, just catching on the lower one slightly, and over her chin, where he applied just a tad more force and tugged her mouth open. Keeping his thumb there, he palmed her jaw and guided her face down, then with his free hand encircled his own cock and tilted it towards her. They shared one more glance of mutual understanding, and then he pushed her down along his shaft.

Jemma actually groaned at the contact, her fingers digging into Fitz’s hips as she kept sinking along his length long after he’d let her go. He was already hot and slick against the inside of her cheeks and that strange ridge settled at the back of her tongue when she was all the way down and each pass felt like a jet of molten need straight to her core.

She knew better than to do anything wild with him, this first time around, so she set up a standard rhythm with her mouth and worked the bottom of the shaft with one hand, introducing little twists and licks according to the sounds he was making. Once she traced the thick vein on the underside with one finger as she withdrew her mouth and his entire body bucked up towards her; she saved that for later use, not wanting to push him too quickly.

The entire time, her eyes remained on his, like he’d held her gaze when he’d been on her breasts. For all her own exploration of his anatomy, she knew his experience was more revolutionary. She’d seen joy on Fitz’s face before, like when tasting ginger beer or upon first catching sight of the monkeys at the zoo, but this was _ecstasy._ His eyelashes fluttered as he tried to maintain eye contact with her; he reached half-heartedly for her and then fell back against the pillows, overwhelmed; he moaned and then, of all things, began talking.

“Fuck yes, that’s – oh fuck. That right there – that’s magnificent, that is, whatever you’re doing, it’s – it’s brilliant, it’s ingenious, it’s – you’re bloody brilliant, have I m—oh _god_ – mentioned that? Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck—“

Jemma couldn’t help it: though she was wet herself, nearly grinding against the end of the bed, she started laughing, his reaction was so ridiculous. The vibrations of her laughter only got him going faster, hitting the back of her throat with every twitch of his hips, and in anticipation of his orgasm Jemma started to pull back, unsure whether how he’d want to finish, but then it was happening, some of his cum landing in her mouth, the rest of it spurting across his chest, and hers.

She was halfway to grimacing from the familiar taste of cum when she took in what exactly she was tasting.

Fitz’s jizz was _delicious._ It was… sweet? But not the overload sweet of buttercream icing or the too-subtle sweet of a not-quite-ripe apple. It was the sweet of cherry dark chocolate, just short of bitter, still hitting some part of her brain that set off a chain reaction of chemicals.

She looked down at him, laying there dazed and amazed, and took in another shock: it was _purple_. It was sticky and warm just as she’d come to expect, but the stuff smeared over his chest was a pastel purple, nearly lavender.

She was now properly cackling, wiping tears from her eyes as best she could without getting cum all over her face.

Fitz pouted at her. “Hunter specifically mentioned that laughing is a bad sign.”

“No, it’s not—“ She licked one of her fingers clean and snorted. All these years she’d been suffering through regular blow jobs and now _this_? His cock was like an icing bag, coating them both in tasty confection. “This is definitely a good thing, I pr-promise—“

She was laughing too hard to continue and put a hand on his chest for support, but covered as it was in cum, she slipped and tumbled forward onto him. As he caught her he rolled her over, grinning at her squeak of surprise.

“Someone’s feeling spritely,” she commented.

“Your turn,” he whispered, and he dropped a chaste peck to her lips – she wondered if he would taste as good to himself as he did to her; he _did_ have rather peculiar food preferences – before he was suddenly shuffling down her body, and he was moving her underwear along with him.

“You don’t have to—“ she said quickly, mostly out of habit.

“I want to,” he cut her off firmly. “But you’ll need to guide me.”

Jemma doubted she could hold onto words long enough to help him get her off, but she supposed she could at least get him started.

And then he was there, nestled between her legs, chin propped innocently on one thigh as he waited for her instructions. He didn’t even look nervous anymore; honestly, she thought _she_ was the more nervous one. Then again, the flutter and clench in her gut (and lower) weren’t unpleasant. They were fiercer, though, than she was used to, the passion of this intimate moment coupled with the woozy intoxication of getting to share it with _him_ , specifically.

Before this moment, she could’ve easily given a clinical, thorough rundown of cunninlingus. Now, with Fitz’s stubble rubbing parts of her thighs that never saw sun, it was necessary to clear her throat before she could start.

“Spread the lips,” she murmured, voice coming out strangled.

She couldn’t see what he was doing so the first contact came as a surprise, and she could’ve sworn there was an actual spark when the just-rough skin of his thumbs found her own skin, just inside, smooth and already sensitive.

She was afraid to touch herself, afraid she was already too wound up from watching Fitz come and from the minuscule contact they’d made, but she wanted to make sure this next bit was clear, and she wasn’t sure what role vocabulary had played in Hunter’s instruction.

“You’ll want to focus your attention here—“ She touched her forefinger lightly to her clit, pressing her arse into the mattress at the zing of sensation. “—And here, this hole.”

“Hunter said there are a few holes—“ Fitz muttered, gaze following the motion of Jemma’s fingers.

“Just – just work with this one for now, I think.”

“How should I—“

“L-lick,” she stuttered as he leaned in. What was wrong with her?? She’d done this dozens of times, mostly without any memorable results, and—“ _Ohhh_.”

He was too gentle, too tentative, but his tongue was rough against her and he ran it along the length of her slit and up against her clit and even in his hesitation a wave of bonelessness shuddered through her. Her involuntary twitch upwards pressed his tongue deeper, closer to where she needed him, but he withdrew, set on maintaining a religious worship of the areas she’d shown him without taking it further.

She stifled a groan of frustration; she knew Fitz learned through rewards, not reprimands, and to be fair, his work was already better than most human males she’d known so intimately, even if it would never be enough to carry her to completion. He flicked her clit – so sensitive it was approaching painful – with just the tip of his tongue; should she tell him to suck on it, or work it over herself?

As she was about to slide her hand down her belly, she became aware of his shaft, already hard again, heavy and warm and velvety against her knee.

 _That_ hadn’t taken long.

“Fitz, stop,” she panted, trying to grab him by the hair but catching his ears instead.

“Is it – not good?” he asked fretfully, glancing up at her with distractingly shiny lips.

“No, it’s very good, it’s—“ As she watched, his tongue flicked out to clean up the edges of his mouth. They could have a _lot_ of fun with this, given enough time and steady instruction. “As reluctant as I am to tell you to stop, I’d rather like it if we both came together.”

“You mean –“

“Get up here,” she whispered.

She encircled his neck as soon as he was close enough, kissing him again after far too long. (She could’ve sworn she tasted sweeter off of his lips.) The initial reverent urgency from earlier had left his kisses, replaced by something superior: something eternal, something slow, something that cocooned around them and thrummed through every point of contact.

So aware of his body that she didn’t need to look down, Jemma wrapped her hand around his cock and nuzzled against his cheek, silently checking that he was ready. He shifted forward, still in her grip but just nudging her entrance.

“Next time I’ll expect you to do this yourself,” she teased softly, and then she pressed herself up along his length until the abnormal ridge brushed her G-spot.  

They both gasped as the spark she’d detected earlier soared into an undeniable electricity, pulsating through both their bodies. Jemma felt riveted to the mattress by the power of it; her very blood was on fire and she feared if she moved she’d lose the sensation. Fitz’s thin arms quaked as he held himself above her, his eyes were foggy as he struggled to focus on her face, and a little drop of sweat hung suspended at the very tip of his nose. Just before it was about to fall, Jemma forced herself up on one elbow, looped an arm around his neck, and brought her lips tenderly to catch the sweat.

The slight shift sent shivers through the place where they were joined and at last they seemed able to move, if only to chase more of the intoxicating current.

Jemma didn’t have words for the way they moved together; she was used to sex involving one person thrusting, perhaps the other helping, but with Fitz, though his anatomy seemed nearly human, there was an equilibrium to their movements. Their bodies seemed to _ripple_ against each other: now in tandem, now counterpoint.

And still the warm energy hovered just outside of orgasm, building like a stored charge with no outlet. Jemma groaned in frustration.

“Fitz, I need-“

He pulled away from suckling her collarbone and descended to kiss her. She tilted up her chin, words no longer enough to beg him for more – but at the last second, just when she expected their lips to meet, his mouth twitched with a smirk, his thumb found her clit, and her orgasm rushed over her, her body just a conduit for the energy.

“ _Oh Fitz_ ,” she cried as his cock literally started vibrating within her as he approached his own climax, “oh god, I – it’s so much, I can’t—“

And then of all things the damn alien started to pull out.

“What are you doing?!” she exclaimed, slapping her hands as quickly as she could over his pert little arse and holding him tightly to her.

“I’m hurting you!” he panted desperately.

“I’m going to _kill_ Hunter,” she muttered. She made a mental note to chide her friend for a sub-par explanation of what to expect from the female orgasm (though admittedly, he’d probably never had exposure to something quite this revolutionary) and purposefully clenched herself around Fitz’s cock. “Remember what happened a moment ago, when you squirted all over the place?” Fitz blushed but his cock throbbed pleasantly within her. “This is nearly the same thing, only for me. It’s a _good_ thing, I promise. So don’t you _dare_ fucking stop.”

As she tightened on him, his hips stuttered and they lost control together, the energy colliding right at their joining, the ferocity of it lifting Jemma’s hips off the bed. One of Fitz’s hands fisted in her hair; the other grabbed one of hers, squeezing it impossibly tightly. Yet somehow, the way they were melded together in some way that transcended the physical, she knew he could squeeze forever and never break her.

When the stars cleared from her vision, Jemma fell back against the sheets now drenched with their sweat. Fitz tumbled atop her, sliding out of her and rolling just to the side with his arm draped across her ribs.

They lay in complete silence for a full minute, chests heaving.

“Holy mother of—“

“Andromeda’s nipple whiskers,” Fitz groaned in agreement. “Hunter said he liked sex but _that_ —“

“That wasn’t sex, Fitz,” Jemma chuckled. When he looked up at her in confusion she smoothed back his matted curls and added, “That was nuclear fusion.”

He snorted and snuggled against her, his embrace loose and sleepy. “Maybe we have a lesson or two to teach Hunter.”

“Less Hunter talk post-coitus, Fitz,” Jemma chided lazily.

“Noted.”

They fell asleep within minutes, spent to their very bone marrow. Jemma learned that Fitz’s snores were something closer to purring and that he was an exceptional blanket sharer; he was a bit like a personal blanket himself. And when they woke in the first grey light of dawn, nothing seemed more right than to verify that the events of the previous night could be replicated in a repeat experiment. Just to be sure.

    


 

 


End file.
